


Law Abiding Citizen

by zoemathemata



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:10:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoemathemata/pseuds/zoemathemata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek gets pulled over by one of Beacon Hills Finest. Well, at least, Stiles is pretending to be one of Beacon Hills Finest. </p><p>Written for the TW_Holidays (LiveJournal) for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/j7nx">j7nx</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Law Abiding Citizen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [j7nx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/j7nx/gifts).



Derek flexes his hands on the wheel of the Camaro as he waits and Jesus, the irony is just about killing him. 

He’s not an idiot. He knows that just because something’s shitty doesn’t mean it’s ironic. He actually did very well in school despite what Lydia calls his monosyllabic, Neanderthal-like speech patterns and problem solving. What he’s finding particularly ironic about this situation is that not two weeks ago, after being dosed by a particularly vicious blend of wolfsbane that had him unable to filter any of this thoughts, he’d blurted out to Stiles that he’d always had this kind of fantasy of getting busted by a cop and getting out of trouble. 

By sexing the officer up. 

Thank God Stiles had already gotten Derek alone and sent the rest of the pack away while the wolfsbane worked its way through his system so there weren’t any prying ears as he babbled away about all the ways it could happen. He remembered lying there with his head in Stiles lap, Stiles looking down at him with a smile, fingers carding through his hair while Derek went on and on about it. 

Derek had woken up the next morning hung over, his head pounding, his mouth feeling like he’d eaten a value pack of athletic socks. Stiles helped him shower and poured him about six glasses of juice and made him bacon and eggs. They spent the remainder of the day in bed while Derek slept the rest of the wolfsbane hangover off. 

Two days later, Stiles told him if Derek was interested in role playing, it was definitely something they could do. 

So yeah, Derek thinks it’s a little ironic that only two weeks later he’s getting pulled over by the cops. He should know better than to just put shit like that out there, in the universe. It has a way of coming back to bite him. He’ll pay the ticket, he doesn't give a shit about the money. But it’s a hassle. 

And this one is taking his fucking time. The lights from the cruiser are blinding in the rearview mirror, making Derek squint slightly. All he can make out is the bright white lights of the headlamps and the flashing blue and red of the top lights, still flickering. Derek keeps his hands on the wheel, visible and in sight. He knows while he might not have an official rap sheet, he does have a ‘history’ and the last thing he needs is for some nervous deputy to freak out if he can’t see Derek’s hands and think he’s going for a weapon. 

Not that Derek needs to carry any kind of weapon when he can just claw-out his hands but... well, it’s not like the cops know that. 

He finally sees the officer climb out of the cruiser - a black shape against the bright lights of the headlamps and honestly that fucker must have his high-beams on. Derek can see out of the corner of his eye, in the rear view mirror, that the brightness of the light is making his retinas reflective and he’ll have to keep his eyes downcast and make sure he doesn’t look at the beams directly. 

The distinctive silhouette of the lawman walks toward him. Slow, steady gait - hand resting on what must be the hilt of his gun, baton swinging from the other side. Derek flicks his eyes forward and grits his teeth. He hates the lectures. It’s bad enough to get a ticket but then you always have to sit through the BS. ‘Do you know how fast you were going?’ or ‘lucky you didn’t cause an accident. Do you know what kind of damage a high-speed collision can do to the human body?’ If you mouth off, you get a bigger ticket. Hell, sometimes if you stay silent you get a bigger ticket. Jesus, he just wants to be home already. If he didn’t drive such a distinctive car, he would have considered just speeding off into the night and never even pulling over. It’s not like the government purchased cruiser would stand a chance against the Camaro. 

He flexes his hands one more time against the wheel. 

“License and registration.”

He turns his head so fast he swears he hears his neck crack. “Stiles?”

Those honey-brown eyes are smirking back at him, lips not quite curved in a smile. Derek feels his mouth go a little dry. Stiles is wearing the tell-tale, distinctive beige uniform of a Beacon Hills Deputy. It’s a little tight across the chest, a little snug across the hips - where his gun belt is also resting, slung a little low. Derek looks him up and down and then cranes his neck as he turns around a bit more and sees that yes, it’s an actual cruiser he’s looking at and not Stiles hunk-of-junk Jeep that really should’ve given up the ghost years ago but somehow still runs. 

“What are you-”

“License. And registration,” Stiles repeats, the smirk fading from his lips. He leans in a bit closer and Derek feels a thrill run through his body. He pulls his wallet out, getting his license and then reaches for the glove compartment and pulls out his papers. He hands them both over to Stiles who looks them over with a shrewd eye. 

“Step out of the car.”

“What’s this about,” Derek asks, feeling his heart racing, hearing Stiles’ heart racing as well. He can smell the arousal coming off of Stiles, the adrenaline and the confidence. Derek licks his lips. “Sir,” he adds. 

“Just step out of the car,” Stiles replies. 

Derek pulls the handle of the door and steps out, extending his long legs slowly and then standing upright. Stiles only moves back an inch or so. It’s really not enough to move him out of Derek’s space and they’re practically toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose. Derek loves Stiles’ eyes. They’re deep and dark but not so dark that they have no texture. When Stiles isn’t trying to hide anything, his eyes project everything he feels, everything he thinks. 

But right now, Stiles is keeping them a little blank. But still... fun. 

“Was I speeding?” Derek asks. 

“Hands on the hood,” Stiles commands and Derek feels another shock run through him at the tone in Stiles’ voice. Derek takes a step toward the front of the car and then bends slightly at the hip to place his hands on the warm, smooth hood of the car. He cants his hips back just a little to stick his ass out a bit more. 

“Busted tail light?” Derek says, looking over his shoulder slightly. 

“Eyes forward.”

Stiles kicks at the inside of Derek’s ankles a bit and Derek widens his stance slightly. He feels the heat of Stiles’ body as he steps closer to Derek, almost touching him. 

Almost. But not quite. 

“You’ve got a bit of a reputation with the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says and _holy fuck_ he starts frisking Derek, starting at Derek’s wrists. He fits his body right against Derek’s and starts running his hands up Derek’s arms, and then his shoulders, then the splay of his shoulder blades. He smoothes his fingers down under Derek’s arms and Derek flinches and twitches. He’s ticklish there and Stiles fucking _knows_ that. 

“Stay still.”

Derek takes a deep breath and concentrates on staying still as Stiles runs his hands over the front of Derek’s chest, down his sternum and then back around his ribcage to the small of his back. Stiles’ hands are strong and slim as they press into the curve where Derek’s back turns into the swell of his ass. Stiles runs his hands over Derek’s ass much to quickly for Derek’s liking and Derek can’t stop a sound of protest from escaping. He tries to cover it up by speaking.

“Any and all charges were dropped.”

Stiles makes a low ‘hmmm’ sound and then both of his hands wrap around one of Derek’s thigh and drag slowly down the denim all the way to the ankle before Stiles switches to the other leg and does the same thing. 

“Do you know what the speed limit is around here, Mr. Hale?” Stiles asks. He’s standing up again, pressed up against Derek’s back. Derek can still hear his heart pounding - loud and steady but faster than usual. The kicker is, Derek doesn’t actually know what the speed limit is around here. 

“Fifty?” he hazards. Derek’s cock is starting to get hard, pressing against his jeans and he shifts his hips slightly pushing back against Stiles provocatively. 

Stiles presses back against Derek. “Forty-five,” he says, low in his ear. 

“My mistake,” Derek says, turning his head slightly and grinning. Jesus. They’re out here on the side of the road and the cruiser’s lights are just bathing them in visibility. Anyone could come along. It’s not a highly trafficked road but it’s not a private one either. He feels himself get harder. 

Fuck, Stiles always has the _best_ ideas. 

Stiles runs his hand down the front of Derek’s jeans, feeling the swell of his dick. “What have we here, Mr. Hale. Concealed weapon?”

Fuck, Derek wants to laugh because it’s so cliched and like something out of a bad porn movie. He actually huffs out a breath of humor but it ends on a quiet moan as Stiles presses the heel of his hand against Derek’s dick. 

“Going fifteen over the limit and possibly carrying a concealed weapon,” Stiles muses in Derek’s ear, his breath hot and moist against the shell. “With your history, it might not go so well.”

Stiles presses his hand against Derek’s dick again and Derek jerks his hips forward. “Maybe,” Derek says as he licks his lips. “Maybe we can work something out.”

Stiles shifts closer, his body a long, hot line against Derek’s. “Are you propositioning an officer of the law, Mr. Hale?”

Derek swivels his hips a little and he can feel the reactive jerk of Stiles’ hips in return, feel the hard length of Stiles’ erection pressing against his ass. 

“I just want to ensure everyone goes home... satisfied.”

Stiles sucks the meaty part of Derek’s ear lobe into his mouth and bites down on it hard, just the way Derek loves and he can’t stop a moan from bubbling up from deep in his throat. Derek tips his head a bit to the side, exposing his neck and Stiles’ teeth let go from their painful grip on Derek’s ear and start nipping at the thin, stubbly skin just above Derek’s jugular. 

At the same time, one of Stiles’ hands is fumbling with the button of Derek’s jeans, popping it open and then sliding down the zipper slowly. In the quiet night, Derek swears he can hear each of the individual zipper teeth as they give way. He strains his hearing, thinking about the long road, wondering if anyone is turning down it right now, wondering exactly what moment a car could come up over the rise of the road, wondering what they’d see. 

Stiles uses both hands to tug Derek’s jeans down, a breath of laughter escaping him as he does. “Fuck your pants are tight, I’m surprised I can’t see the imprint of a quarter in your back pocket on your ass.”

“I like them that way,” Derek says on an exhale as Stiles works down Derek’s briefs as well. “I like how they feel when I walk, how they push against me, pressing everything in close and tight.”

“Fuck,” Stiles says. He bends Derek in half, forcing him over the front of the cruiser and rush of lust floods Derek’s system. He knows Stiles wouldn’t fuck him without prepping him but the thought that he _might_ that he _could_ and that Derek would _let him_ pummels his brain. He hears Stiles undo his own pants, hears the rustle of fabric, the shift of skin. 

“Put your legs together,” Stiles rasps in Derek’s ear and then he laughs. “As tight as your pants.”

Derek has to laugh at that too and Jesus, he loves Stiles. He loves how they can be in the middle of this game, or in the middle of the kitchen or the middle of driving down a road and they can laugh and it’s easy and fun and _safe_. 

Stiles pushes his dick in between Derek’s legs and it’s a little rough and dry but it feels so good. He can feel the fabric of the officer’s uniform against his ass and knows without turning around that Stiles hasn’t even pushed his pants down, he’s just taken his dick out and is fucking Derek while he’s still wearing the uniform, while he’s still wearing the gun belt. Derek can feel the rasp of the belt pressing against the soft skin of his lower back, and if he concentrates, hidden under the scent of lust and arousal is the faint tinge of gun oil. He shudders and can’t help grunting in pleasure as Stiles thrusts against him. His dick is hard and hot in between Derek’s legs, up against his balls. At the same time, Stiles is jerking him off with one of his hands - those long fingered hands that Derek knows so well. The other one is digging into Derek’s hip, hard and tight. He’s not going to last. He feels overwhelmed with sensory input. The rasp of the uniform, the scent of the gun, straining to hear if someone is coming down the road, the glare of the lights, and Stiles, Stiles, _Stiles_ up against him, pushing him into the Camaro, breathing hot and hard in his ear telling him he’s being so good, so perfect. 

He feels his balls seize up tight and he’s coming way sooner than he wanted to, than he expected to and Stiles licks the shell of his ear and tugs on his earlobe again and Derek’s dick tries to give one last spurt, so spent it hurts a little. Derek goes boneless and limp and Stiles eases him down further onto the hood and keep fucking him - precome and sweat making it a little smoother and hotter. 

Derek can’t even listen for other cars anymore - he’s too relaxed and loose. He trusts that Stiles wouldn’t have done this if there was a chance that they could get caught but Derek still imagines what would happen if a car crested around the bend right now and saw him, bent in half over the Camaro, Stiles fucking him insistently and hard, pushing him into the hood and Derek just taking it - sated and relaxed. 

Stiles comes in a flood of heat between Derek’s legs and it feels so good he moans in happiness. Stiles bends over him and licks the back of his neck, bitting a bit at the top of Derek’s spine, like wolves do and it makes Derek shudder in pleasure. Stiles presses against Derek, resting his weight on top of him, and Derek feels safe and secure between the heavy, warm weigh of Stiles’ body and the hard, unyielding hood of the car. Stiles runs his hands down over Derek’s arms, petting him, touching him they way they both like. 

“Imma have to get the car detailed,” Derek slurs and Stiles laughs in his ear, pulling up slowly, pulling away from Derek. It leaves Derek feeling cold and a little exposed in the night air but Stiles quickly helps Derek get his pants back up and on, smirking as Derek has to adjust himself to get them zipped. 

“They are stupidly tight,” Stiles says, shaking his head slightly. 

They are and with Stiles’ come all down his legs and balls it’s a little uncomfortable but totally worth it. He pulls Stiles closer by hooking his fingers into the uniform’s beltloops. He rests against the Camara, tugging Stiles in closer until they’re hip to hip. 

“New look for you.” 

Stiles smiles. “You like? Got it on a loaner. The cruiser too.”

“How did you manage that?”

Stiles shrugs and looks a little coy. “It helps when you know over half the Sheriff’s department.” He presses his lips to Derek, almost chastely. “Worth it?”

Derek smiles against Stiles’ lips, feeling his stomach turn over with pleasure and desire as he replays the last few minutes over in his mind. “Fuck yes.”

“Good.” Stiles slaps him playfully on the ass. “I gotta go take down the road closure, meet you at home.”

Derek feels another pleasured feeling sink into his gut at the word. “Yeah, home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for TW_Holidays for j7nx. Things I tried to include from prompts - D/S, dom!Stiles, slutty!Derek, role play, and the prompt ‘Stiles is a cop and Derek gets into trouble.’ Unbeta’d.


End file.
